Speech Impediment
by dumpling47
Summary: One-shot. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes could hide the fact that he had a lisp for long.


**If you watch some of Benedict's old interviews (particularly the ****_Last Enemy_**** blooper reel), you'll understand that the actor himself suffers from the same 'ailment' (if you could even call it that), so I decided Sherlock would have the same thing going on with him ...**

* * *

One thing I've always admired about Sherlock is his fantastic maneuvering of difficult words. God knows he can talk a mile a minute, and his diction is nothing short of perfect. Sometimes I myself wish I had such a complete grasp of the English language (and loads of other ones too, for that matter).

But at risk of sounding obsessive, I'll explain why Sherlock's speaking patterns are so important:

Mycroft had been pestering him lately, saying rather insulting things when his little brother wouldn't comply with his wishes. Because of this (I had presumed), Sherlock was growing increasingly silent - which was odd, seeing as he typically went off on huge tirades when his brother was being a prat. He hadn't spoken in hours when I decided to ask (for the umpteenth time) what was the matter.

My friend shrugged petulantly, saying nothing on the subject.

"Come on, Sherlock," I said. "What's the matter? You know I'm here."

"You'd - you'd only laugh," Sherlock said, very quickly.

"Sherlock -"

To my very great surprise, Sherlock leant forward and pressed his fingers to his temples, breathing quickly, as though he were trying to keep under control. I was beyond startled.

"Jesus, Sherlock -"

"_Jthon!_" he cried, sounding panicked. His eyes widened and he covered his mouth with ... shame? I wasn't sure.

"Sherlock, what the hell - ?"

"Oh my God," he murmured, voice shaking. "Did thyou hear that? Oh, God, of coursth you did. Chrisft."

I can't even begin to explain how shocked I was. Was he ... _lisping?_

I tried to make a joke out of it, not sure what was going on. "Well, what's the problem? You get a tooth out or something?"

Sherlock was completely red in the face. He then proceeded to take out his phone and send a very long text - me, obviously, being the recipient. The gist of the thing was that he had had a lisp for a very long time, only coming out in moments of true stress, and right now, with Mycroft and everyone else pestering him incessantly, it was resurfacing, and he was panicking, thinking he'd become a huge laughing-stock.

"Come here," I said, opening my arms to him, "Take it easy, okay? Maybe if you just relaxed -"

Sherlock was surprisingly open to me. He curled up in my arms on the sofa, and I held him for a long time, until I finally felt something needed to be said.

"You know, I never would've guessed - about the lisp, I mean - until now, that is -"

"I have ... spent a very long time ... attempting to ... discipline myself to speak normally ..." Sherlock began, very carefully, not lisping even once. "I don't suppose you know ... how much therapy and ... self-discipline it took, when I was younger? And even now. Not the therapy, but, well ... I could ... easily go from being respected to ... being looked upon ... as a fool."

"And you've done remarkably well, you know that? You have the most perfect diction I've ever encountered."

He smiled weakly. "It's a lot easier getting it under control when you're here, John."

"You know, I personally think the lisp could be sort of endearing, but of course I understand you want to be respected, so, well - if keeping it under control is what helps, well - I mean, you know what triggers it, right?"

"High-stress situations," Sherlock murmured.

"And those can't always be avoided, but you know what? I'm always here. I'll try my best to help you, and if Mycroft keeps being an arse, well, I swear to God -"

Sherlock let out a bark of genuine laughter. "Thank you, John. Can you imagine, though?" he said, grinning, "If anyone at the Yard knew of this? Thank God it's only you and my brother."

I nodded. "I see what you mean."

Sherlock had evidently disciplined himself very well, because I never heard the lisp again, not even during Reichenbach and his subsequent return. It pained me, in a way, to think that he was so hell-bent on self-control that he wouldn't even allow himself to slip up, even once. It sort of made me glad I wasn't in that head of his, because I honestly couldn't imagine what went on in it even half the time.

I wasn't completely unobservant, though, and I could still sense when Sherlock was stressed, lisp or no. I made a silent promise to myself (and to him) that I'd always be there, especially when he was in a situation where he simply needed to relax a little.

I could hardly do less, now could I?


End file.
